What the McCleary Brothers Did
by Shellecah
Summary: A cautionary tale of retribution told in four chapters from the viewpoints of Kitty, Doc, Chester, and Matt
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One ~ Kitty

What the McCleary brothers did to Yury Kincaid did not surprise Doc. He treated two men who were attacked in Abilene and Oklahoma Territory, and said it happened often to women in and around Dodge. Depravity never shocked him. Doc had seen everything.

I was figuring the night's returns over coffee when Matt rushed through the batwings. He gave me a scare; Matt rarely hurries even with danger afoot. Pale through his tan, his chest heaving, he looked disoriented like he'd taken a whack to the head. He reached for my arm and almost yanked me out of my chair.

"Matt." I said, "What is it?"

"I need you to tend to Mrs. Kincaid," he said.

"Hannah?"Yury and Hannah Kincaid stayed at Dodge House. In town for Yury's correspondence work, they planned to return to New York at summer's end. Matt and I, Chester and Doc liked Hannah, who was exquisite as a china doll, so we were obliging to her husband for her sake. "Matt, tell me," I said as he pulled me toward the street. "What's wrong with Hannah?"

"It's Yury," Matt said. "Mrs. Kincaid is close to collapse. Doc gave her something . . . laudanum."

"Was he robbed?" I said. "I knew it would happen. I told him not to flash his money around."

"He was . . . attacked," Matt said. "He said the McCleary brothers did it."

"The McClearys beat Yury? Why?"

Matt motioned me up to Doc's office, and I looked back at him as I climbed the stairs.

"Be careful," Matt said, touching his palm to my back. "They did worse than beat him. It's bad."

I paused on the stairs, hearing myself gasp. Matt steadied me, his breath puffing warm and quick through my hair. "I'm alright," I said.

Hannah lay curled on Doc's settee. Chester sat in a chair beside her, holding her hand. He rose when he saw me, and stepped aside so I could take his chair.

"Hannah." I smoothed back her soft yellow hair. Her head was moist and hot, her face wet with tears.

 _"Oh Kitty,"_ she said, and wept loudly, like she'd waited for me to come to let it out.

"Hannah," I repeated. "Doc's taking care of Yury. He'll come through this."

Chester moved restlessly, hovering over us. I thought him in the way. His presence seemed to comfort Hannah though, or I would've told him to ask Doc if he could help with Yury. Covered in blood and dirt, his black eyes distended and his clothes in tatters, Yury lay on Doc's table and stared at the ceiling.

"Matt," I said, "will you carry Hannah to Ma Smalley's? I can care for her better there than at Dodge House, and Ma'll help me."

"Alright," Matt said.

"Do you need Chester right now, Doc?" I said. On impulse I put my arm lightly round Chester's waist and looked up at him. His face was drawn and somber.

Sleeves rolled above his elbows, his arms stained with Yury's blood, Doc regarded Chester intently before turning back to his patient. "No . . . _no_ ," Doc said.

"Come with me, Chester," I said. "Help me gather Hannah's things to take to Ma's." He nodded. He hadn't said a word since I entered Doc's office.

Doc said Yury would live, but his mind was shocked and he might never come out of it.

The McCleary brothers meanwhile remained free, as it was their word against Yury's. Matt said he stepped in patches of blood-soaked grass when he went to the brothers' shack. The McClearys said they'd shot a bunch of coon outside their door.

Folks said something of the sort was bound to happen to Yury. A handsome figure with a cheerful bronze face and costly duds, Yury had hopped off the noon train and lifted his wife to his side with a flourish.

He announced himself at the Long Branch as a frontier correspondent for an Eastern periodical, ordered drinks for everyone, joked and laughed and continually questioned my patrons in his refined speech, and wrote in a notebook he took from his back pocket. Sam told me "that dude" was mocking folks and asking personal things, and there'd be trouble.

The three McCleary brothers came to the Long Branch that night. They did everything together, only infrequently socializing with other men. They bought a whiskey bottle and talked low with their lips to one another's ears, watching Yury the whole time.

"Miss Kitty!" Sam pointed as Yury approached the McCleary's table, a full bottle and glass in hand. "The McClearys'll rough him up sure."

"I hope not for his wife's sake," I said. "She's sweet as a daisy, and she adores him. Smiles up into his face every word he says."

Sam and I needn't have worried . . . that first night. Yury charmed folks out of the anger he stirred with his wit. Rolfe McCleary, the oldest brother, soon moved his chair close to Yury's, and the brothers laughed noisily as they emptied the bottle. Rolfe repeatedly backslapped Yury and yelled in his ear, until Yury abruptly scraped his chair back and hastily left the Long Branch. Unoffended by his sudden departure, the McClearys enjoyed themselves late into the night, buying three of my gals a drink—a gal for each brother.

Yury gossiped and spread rumors around town to make up stories for his New York paper. He told our patrons that Sam habitually spent the night with my girls in their rooms. When Yury asked him how late he worked, Sam said that as he kept the bar until closing, cleaned up and resumed work a few hours later, he often slept in one of my upstairs rooms. "I did not say a word about our gals, Miss Kitty, not one word. I'd like to loosen that dandy's teeth," Sam said.

The McClearys fascinated Yury. He'd call to them from across the street, run after them down the walk, buy them dinner and drinks. If Yury saw them sitting out, he'd join them even if he had to sit on the walk. He endured Rolfe's impropriety so he could talk to them.

My affection for Hannah made me worry for her husband, and I resolved to warn him about the McClearys when he invited me to lunch at Delmonico's. I confess he distracted me from my task; he was that good to look at. He had finely cut vigorous features, sparkly eyes, wiry black curls, and a genteel aspect. Neither tall or short, he was on the slim side though not skinny.

"I hope you'll accept my apologies, Miss Kitty," he said. "I asked you here for my work. I'm a brute to talk business at lunch with a beautiful accomplished woman. My correspondence for the periodical, you see. Do you mind _very_ much?" He reached for the ever-present notebook in his back pocket, his face one dazzling smile. I smiled in return—couldn't help it.

"The McCleary brothers," Yury said, unzipping an inner vest pocket from which he removed a thin leather case. "You have an acquaintance with them? I see them quite often at the Long Branch." He drew a sharpened pencil from the case and held it poised.

"Their money's good," I replied. "I have no dealings with them beyond that. The McClearys are ruffians, Yury. You'd best stay clear of them. Hannah would never get over it if anything happened to you."

Yury's brow furrowed, then smoothed above a patronizing smile. "Oh don't worry about me, Miss Kitty," he said. "I'm a veteran journalist, my dear. I've been places."

He rested his arms on the table and leaned forward conspiratorially, his pert face close to mine. My men friends use lye soap, but Yury smelled sweetly of Pears soap and the scent was heady.

"I heard something simply shocking, my dear," he said. "You'd know of it perhaps, having lived in Dodge quite a spell. I heard . . . ." He paused dramatically. "I heard the McClearys' mother and father . . . are also their aunt and uncle." He sat back in his chair and scrutinized my face, his expression calculating.

I knew such things happened in families of course. I decided as I sipped my tea not to dine again with this man unless his wife joined us. I was fairly sure he never spoke of such things when Hannah was with him. Yury insulted me because I owned a saloon. I was looking forward to the roast duck though; it smelled divine, I was famished, and I had nothing against looking at him while I ate.

He seemed disappointed at my lack of reaction to his secret. "It's true, Miss Kitty," he said. "The youngest McCleary let it slip when he was drunk. The one named Tanner. I get the impression he's ashamed of his parentage."

"No kidding," I said.

What Yury told me was too strange to keep to myself. I suppose he counted on that to stir excitement he could write about.

I felt uneasy at the thought of telling Matt, who could be provokingly virtuous, and I wouldn't dream of telling Chester, who was modest as a schoolmarm. I'd only embarrass him.

So I shared what I heard from Yury with Doc, who was unexpectedly taken aback. Doc stared at me, scandalized. When I laughed at him, he shook his head, speechless. "Kitty . . . ," he said, shaking his head again, and I laughed harder.

"What in thunder are you cackling like that for?" Doc said. "Here now, you sit down." He led me to a chair. "I'll bring you some coffee."

"What's the matter with Kincaid, talking to a woman like that," Doc fretted. "He don't have sense enough to know that kind of talk can bring on hysterics!"

"Oh, Doc ," I said. I touched his hand as he handed me a steaming cup. "I'm sorry. I'm alright, honestly."

He nodded brusquely, pulled up a chair next to mine, and sat quietly. I felt suddenly overcome by my fondness for him, but wouldn't let myself give him a hug. I'd shocked him enough already.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two ~ Doc

Like most good women, Yury Kincaid's young wife was resilient. Her spirits returned not long after the night her husband was attacked.

Yury's wounds were mending, but he needed psychiatric care. I recommended to Hannah the Eastern Lunatic Asylum in Williamsburg, Virginia, which practices Moral Management treatment and the latest scientific developments. Hannah made plans to move her husband there when he was strong enough to travel.

He could still talk right after the attack. He told Matt the McClearys threw him in their wagon when they where through with him, and young Tanner drove the wagon to the edge of town and dumped him.

Yury staggered to Matt's office and pounded on the door. Matt was sleeping there that night, having just come back from taking a prisoner to Hays. The condemned man stood trial in Dodge, so Matt had to witness the hanging.

Matt said he and Chester sat up late playing checkers and drinking coffee before Yury showed up. Yury fell into Chester's arms when he opened the door. Matt's carried a lot of injured men up the stairs to my office. I've never seen him so shaken over a wounded man, not even the time two drifters dragged Chester behind a horse and left him for dead.

Barely able to talk, as he was carried to my office Yury told Matt that Rolfe McCleary attacked him while young Tanner and the middle brother, Clay, held him. Yury said he rode to the McCleary shack that afternoon, and they held him there until Tanner drove him back to Dodge in the wagon that night. By the time Matt reached the top of the stairs and called to me to open the door, Yury could no longer speak.

"All those hours, Doc," Matt said. "Rolfe McCleary did that to him and beat him in between that whole time."

Yury was doomed before it happened in my opinion. Vicious as the attack was, it didn't surprise me. I've studied some texts on human behavior, and knew somewhat about the McClearys. Rolfe could act sociable, but had an unimaginable cruel streak and spent more than one spell in prison. Clay was just an oaf, while Tanner followed and obeyed Rolfe.

I recall Chester and myself taking the air outside Matt's office about a fortnight after the Kincaids came to Dodge. The McClearys were across the street a ways shooting marbles when Yury strolled by and squatted near them, getting his clothes dusty. Chester and I watched as Yury talked to the brothers.

"Yury oughta stay away from them boys," was all Chester said.

After awhile Rolfe pushed playfully at Yury, who jumped up and strode away. Rolfe followed, and put his arm around Yury's shoulders. Yury tried to shrug him off but Rolfe hung on. The other two brothers collected their marbles and disappeared somewhere. Yury struggled wildly and shoved at Rolfe, who laughed, refusing to let go.

We rose from our chairs, and Chester gripped the hitching rail. "Oh my goodness," he whispered. Unmoving, Chester suddenly shouted _"Mr. Dillon!"_ , bellowing with all the force in his lungs. I about jumped out of my skin.

Yury and Rolfe stopped still and stared across the street at us as Matt charged out of the office, his gun drawn. "We jest playin' round, Marshal," Rolfe called out. He tried to straighten Yury's rumpled clothes, but Yury tore away and ran toward us.

"Chester, you and Doc take him inside," Matt said.

Yury shook like a leaf in a windstorm. Chester supported him into the marshal's office and helped him into a chair. "You're alright," said Chester. "He scared you is all."

Chester took a whiskey bottle from Matt's lower desk drawer and filled a cup to the brim for quieting Yury's nerves.

"That's too much, Chester," I said. "Less than half that will do."

Chester hesitated, took out two more cups, and equally divided the whiskey in the first cup. "Reckon we can all use some," he said.

Chester glanced at Yury's trembling hands, then laid a hand on the back of his shoulders and held the cup to his mouth.

Yury gulped the whiskey and sucked the dregs. "Thank you," he said.

Chester and I sat with him until Matt came in and asked if he was alright.

"Yes, thank you, Marshal," he said. "Rolfe was only funnin' me. He can get a little too familiar."

We were briefly silent. Matt just stood, and I sloshed the whiskey in my cup. Chester gazed soberly at Yury.

"I talked to Rolfe," Matt said. " You better stay away from the McClearys, Yury."

Yury tried to smile. "It's for my work, Marshal," he said. "I'm accustomed to dealing with rough men."

"Not men like the McClearys," Matt said. "You can't feel your hands in the fire. Why are you so interested in them? There's a lot happening in Dodge you can write about."

"I need stories that excite people, Marshal," Yury said. "Thrilling, dark accounts. Dramatic rumor. Who reads church sociable and sewing circle columns? A few matrons, maybe."

I thudded my cup on the table. "Not a durn thng's exciting about the McClearys," I said. "They're just a backward brood unfit for polite society. I'm telling you, Kincaid. They'll give you thrills you want nothing to do with, you don't leave them alone."

Yury swallowed visibly. Still agitated by the encounter with Rolfe, he couldn't laugh it off, not with Matt and me hard at him. I hoped we talked some sense into his head. His wife was such a good-tempered gentlewoman, it would be a shame for her if anything happened to him.

Yury went right on begging trouble. When I returned from the Castle farm after delivering Nan's fifteenth baby—poor woman—I stopped my buggy in front of Grimmick's livery and found Moss all het up. Folks were telling him that Yury said Moss purchased stolen horses, which explained how he had a steady supply of fine stock, selling and letting them to borrow at the cheapest prices in Kansas. Moss was so angry he scarce could get his words out, and I tried to soothe him. He being an old timer, that sort of riling is bad on the heart.

"I run an honest business, Doc, an honest business! Matt knows it. Why don't he run that busybody dude outta town!" Moss shook his fist, red-faced.

I'd given him some stomach powders only days ago, and worried he'd work himself into a flare-up. "Why, of course Matt knows it," I said. "Everyone in Dodge knows you run an honest business. Don't pay Kincaid any mind. Easy, Moss. You'll make yourself sick." I helped him into the stable out of the sun to sit a spell while I put up the buggy, unhitched the horse and watered him.

"That dude said he was lookin' to buy him a fine stallion to ship East," Moss said, as I led my horse into the stall and rubbed him down. "So happens I have one—the bay in the end stall. I told Kincaid he'd not find better horseflesh anywhere, and I'd sell him the stallion at a steal. And that be _all_ I said! That rascal twisted my words!" Moss pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his face with a tremulous hand.

I sat a little while with Moss, then went to visit Hannah at Dodge House. She needed to talk to her fool of a husband. Not that he'd listen, but it was worth a try.

Yury and his wife stayed in the three-room suite, the hotel's best accommodations. Hannah answered my knock and smiled in delight like I was a much loved relative she hadn't seen in years. "Doc Adams!" she said, "How perfectly lovely! Guess who's here. Only guess. _Kitty_ ," she said, "Kitty's here, too!"

"Hello, Hannah," I said, taking off my hat.

She laughed like I'd said something very witty. "Oh do come in, Doc," she said, taking my hand and leading me into the sitting room.

"Kitty darling," Hannah said, "Look who's here. It's Doc Adams! Sit down and have tea with us, Doc."

"Well isn't this a nice surprise," Kitty said. "Hello, Doc." She was being especially polite for Hannah. If I showed up unexpected anywhere else, she would've just said, "Doc. What're you doin' here?"

"Kitty," I said. Though I'm rather a small fellow, I've always felt clunky sitting to women's tea. They will invite me; I'm the only doctor in Dodge and parts roundabout. Hannah had chicken sandwiches, oatmeal cookies, fresh sugared berries in cream, and an endless flow of hot tea, which I appreciated as the china cups were tiny. Hannah piled my plate twice, and I ate my fill.

"Hannah, I'm concerned about your husband," I said, trying to suck in a belch.

"Doc," said Kitty.

Hannah's silver-gray eyes darkened. "Why?" she asked. "Is Yury sick? I told him he's working too hard. All that writing; he never stops. He's sick, isn't he? He never tells me anything."

"No no, it's not that," I said. "It's about his work."

"The gossip?" Hannah whispered. She touched delicate fingers to her mouth, like the word itself was scandalous.

I was wilting under Kitty's frown. Drawing a deep breath, I thought of old Moss and steeled myself. "I'm afraid Yury's gone too far," I said, and I related Moss' trouble.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," said Hannah. "Poor old Mr. Grimmick."

Kitty took Hannah's hand. "Well, I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding," Kitty said. "Why don't you mention it to Yury. If he knows these rumors are hurting folks, maybe he'll find something else to write about. Dodge is a busy town; a lot goes on here."

Hannah pressed Kitty's hand between both of hers and smiled apologetically. "Oh, Kitty," Hannah said. "I'm ashamed to tell you and Doc. Yury doesn't work for a _respectable_ publication. It's a sensational paper of the very _worst_ sort. It's the money you know. They pay _very_ well, but Yury has to travel widely, to dreadful places sometimes, and he interviews horrid people.

""I've tried to prepare myself, but I don't know if I can survive it. I love Yury so very much. I just know something terrible is going to happen to him one day," Hannah said.

.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three ~ Chester

Doc needed me to nurse Yury Kincaid betimes, so poor Mrs. Kincaid wouldn't weary herself. I spelled her and Miss Kitty. Doc said he'd ask Ma Smalley to help, but Ma only tended women, young 'uns and babes, not growed up men; and on account of folks' bad feeling toward Yury, Doc wouldn't go to the other women he usually asks to assist with ailing folk.

Doc did most of the nursing, but I thought he called on me too much even so. Being near Yury at all made me tired and my head skittery, tending him let alone. Nice as Mrs. Kincaid is, I wished howsoever Yury never stepped off the train.

When I complained about the nursing, Doc looked at me close like he was sorry and worried for me. "He doesn't flinch from you, Chester," Doc said. "I pride myself on my bedside manner, but this is . . . different." Doc knew some sorts of talk made me peculiar, but he said that anyways. Made me feel like I was falling down a well with no bottom.

I had a nightmare from things. Mr. Dillon was sleeping at the office as he said Dodge was restless from the hot spell. I woke up flailing like a mad squirrel screaming my head off, and Mr. Dillon shook me hard 'til my head nearly did snap clean off. When I was full waked, I kept up hollering on account of him shaking me and looking lunatic like in the dark.

"You awake?" he said. He didn't know he pushed letting me go, and I banged my head on the wall by my bed.

I felt of my neck while Mr. Dillon lit the lamp. "No," I said, seeing him reach in his desk drawer where we kept the whiskey bottle. "I want coffee," I said. "Let's set up 'til mornin'."

"Alright," he said. "You make it."

"Don't tend Yury anymore, Chester," Mr. Dillon said next day, offhand, like he might've told me to fetch wood or some other chore. "I can't spare you. I'll talk to Doc."

By then Yury was most recovered, and Doc, Mrs. Kincaid and Miss Kitty had it easier nursing. Miss Kitty said she tended Yury only to help poor Mrs. Kincaid, and so Doc wouldn't get tired out. Miss Kitty said she cared not a fig for Yury of hisself.

Yury wasn't the sort of man to draw on your sympathies. Once when I was going to the post for our mail, I seen him run out Jonas' store. Jonas chased him, waving a shovel and yelling. Yury outrun him, and Jonas stood in the street shouting 'til Yury turned the corner.

I hurried to Jonas headed back to his store, and walked alongside him.

"Oh, it's you, Chester," he said, huffing.

"Jonas," I said.

"You know what that scamp Kincaid's been telling my customers?" Jonas said.

"What?" I said.

"He said I operate an opium den out of my storage shed!" said Jonas.

That tickled me so I had to laugh, which wasn't considerate since Jonas was riled.

"Sure, it's very funny to you," he said. "What if he says you and the marshal are smoking it or somewhat? You won't laugh then."

"He ain't said that, Jonas," I said. We reached the store and I followed him in. I had a penny for sarsaparilla.

"That's not the point, Chester," he said. "Kincaid asked me what I had for headache, said the sun was botherin' him. All I said was I had a good cabinet filled with medicinals. Where'd he figure opium from that? "

"He stories for his paper writin'," I said.

"Well he oughta be run outta town," said Jonas. "His poor wife a perfect lady and lovely as a picture, too. It's a shame _, I_ say."

Yury wouldn't stop making friendly with the McClearys. He should've heeded when Mr. Dillon said to leave them be. Yury seen me at the Long Branch and bought me a beer, and told me the McClearys besides being in-bred had "sordid dark secrets" they shared with him.

I'm not a man likes to hear such as that. I lowered my voice for properness, and told Yury he was a disgrace to his wife, that it was too bad she was married to such as him as he hadn't a decent tongue in his head and his folks should've washed his mouth with lye soap as a young 'un—the strongest kind of lye for clothes scrubbing.

He laughed and told me to quit preaching and acting so all-fired prudish. When I said "well you jest never mind," he laughed again, slapped my back, and turned to look for someone else to share his gossip.

I grabbed Yury's arm without thinking on it. He looked up at me and winced like he expected me to hit him. Folks almost never are afraid of me, and I thought maybe if I could put some fear in him, he'd stay away from the McClearys. "I'm gonna tell you somethin'," I said low, tightening my hold on his arm. "Them brothers are mean as sin, Rolfe McCleary particular. You leave 'em be or you'll be sorrier than you can know, you hear me?" He stared at me big-eyed and tried to pull away. I gave his arm a last shake and let go, pushing a little. He tugged his vest, them black eyes shooting riled sparks at me, grabbed his beer and stalked away to find a table.

Sam was gaping at me open-mouthed. He'd seen the whole of it, Miss Kitty too. Miss Kitty came over to me and said, "What was that all about, Chester."

I looked at her serious. "Somethin' between him and me," I said. "It's not fitting for you to hear, Miss Kitty."

She'd looked like she was figuring whether to get mad at me, but when I said that her face smoothed out soft. "Alright, Chester," she said. She looked around, making up her mind to whatever it was she was thinking on. "Will you sit and have coffee with me a little while?" she said. "I'm awful tired."

"Oh," I said. "You go set, Miss Kitty. I'll get the coffee."

She hadn't set down yet when I carried the cups to the table. I handed her a cup. "You go ahead and sit," she said. "I'd like to stand by you some before I sit down."

I must've looked at her curious cuz she smiled and said, "It's alright. I'm fine." So I knew it was alright and sat down with my coffee. Women just have notions a body can't figure sometimes.

Miss Kitty bent over my chair and touched her cheek to my face. "You let me know if you want anything," she said, her face up close to mine. "It's on the house."

Her smile made things feel everyday again. Thinking on Yury was like seeing flittery shadows.

Excepting inside his head, Yury recovered faster than we thought he would. His eyes looked like no one lived behind them, and he showed no reaction to anything. Doc and Mrs. Kincaid had to feed and dress him and all.

Mrs. Kincaid fussed over her husband, hugging and petting and sweet-talking him like he was a baby. Mr. Dillon said if the psychiatrists could cure Yury's mind, he'd spend the rest of his life a weakling from Mrs. Kincaid's petting, but Doc said Yury needed "human contact" all the time, and Mrs. Kincaid should keep on petting.

She didn't fret at the McCleary brothers free as larks after attacking her husband. She said they'd get their comeuppance, there was nothing she could do there, and Yury needed all her attention.

When the day came for the Kincaids to leave Dodge, we—Mr. Dillon and me, Doc, and Miss Kitty—walked to the depot to see them off. I was impatient for the train to come and take Yury out of our lives, even though his missus was pleasant as a blooming yellow rose. Ma Smalley said even when prostrate the night it happened, Mrs. Kincaid made not a lick of trouble, and Ma liked caring for her.

Not sure if Yury could walk downstairs from Doc's office to the depot without stumbling or somewhat and hurting hisself, Doc wondered if Yury should be carried. Mr. Dillon said that if not out of consideration for Mrs. Kincaid, "it'd be the same to me if he takes a tumble and breaks his neck. I'm not carryin' him, Doc, and if you find a man willing to do it for twenty-five cents, Chester's not gonna bust his back helping that fella carry 'im either."

When Doc snapped, "What's got into you, Matt?," Mr. Dillon said he'd walk ahead to the depot.

Mrs. Kincaid wasn't quite ready to leave, but as I wanted to be out of Doc's office and away from Yury just then, I followed Mr. Dillon downstairs and walked with him. We said nothing until about halfway to the depot, when he said, "You're sure quiet."

He looked at me, but I didn't feel like answering.

"That was hard what I said about Yury," he said. I cared nothing about that and stayed quiet. "Leave me be, Mr. Dillon?" Mr. Dillon said, grinning at me a little.

I looked at him in confoundment. "Alright, Chester," he said, and gave my back a pat.

Gloomy unsettlement had draggled me since the night Yury was attacked, and the feeling stayed on me when the Kincaids left Dodge. I felt better visiting Miss Kitty, so I passed a lot of time at the Long Branch.

Though I'd never been one to drink overmuch, I found myself wanting it more. Miss Kitty told Sam to allow me two beers or one whiskey each visit, and as much free coffee as I wanted.

When Doc said I wasn't myself and to come to his office for him to check me, I said no need of that, I'm fine, honest. He gave me his close-up look, said "Alright, Chester," and patted my back, just like Mr. Dillon did.

Mr. Dillon asked if I wanted to take some time off, maybe go fishing. I knew he wouldn't go with me; he always had somewhat to do. "Maybe later when the air clears round my head," I said. He looked at me curious, asked if I felt alright and why don't I go see Doc. So I sighed big and said I would.

Mr. Dillon and Doc meant no harm with their fussing; it's because they cared so it wasn't real bothersome. Doc looked me over and said I was sound as a new dollar, just needed a tonic to strengthen my blood as I was droopy. He said if I wanted to get away and go fishing a spell, he might like to go with me.

That's when it come clear that Mr. Dillon and Doc were conversating what to do for me. I can be a simple feller sometimes; it took a while for the realizing to hit.

"There's somethin' brewin', Doc," I said. "Somethin' in the air from what the McCleary brothers did to Yury Kincaid. There's gonna come a reckoning, and Mr. Dillon will need me." A shudder rippled me; reckon that was me shaking out of the revelation like Pious Amos Grandy does when a sober utterance takes him. The words came on me unexpected as I'm not a prophesying man. "But I would like to go fishin' with you when it's all over, Doc," I said like my usual self.

Doc looked at me like I was mad as a colicky jackrabbit, and I wondered at the time if what happened to Yury set off a tetching in my head. My head can skeeter off of itself even at the best of times. I think I was more amazed than any of us when my words came to pass . . . .


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four ~ Matt

I kept a room at Ma Smalley's when not sleeping at the office. Ma and I got on well. She cooked my favorite food and brought it fresh to my room, as she knew I was somewhat discomforted dining at the big table. She always had fresh coffee on hand, and a hot water pitcher at my door.

Ma upbraided me when Yury Kincaid told folks her establishment was a house of ill repute. She said I should've run Yury out of town awhile back, and Mrs. Kincaid had best divorce him as he was headed for trouble.

"I said some saloon gals stay here when he asked me," Ma said. "The girls know my place is respectable, Marshal. They're not even allowed men in their rooms after ten o'clock, eleven at the _very_ latest."

Why anyone would want to blemish the reputation of a good soul like Ma was beyond me. I've never understood these gossipy fellows calling themselves correspondents who wreak mischief everywhere they set down their fancy boots.

Fortunately for me, Ma liked me too much to hold a grudge. To make up for scolding, she baked a green-apple pie for me to take to the office and share with Chester. It "was that scoundrel Kincaid's fault," she said, not mine. She wasn't one to wish folks ill, she said, but knew something "real bad will happen to that man if he doesn't mend his ways. I feel for his wife. I've never met a more gracious woman."

Running Yury out of town would mortify Mrs. Kincaid, so I let him stay and spread malicious gossip. I blamed myself for not asking him to leave Dodge soon after he arrived.

I couldn't jail the McClearys as there were no witnesses. There never were. I wished I had the courage to take off my badge just long enough to do the job. It would be like shooting rabid wolves. I imagined aiming close range at Rolfe McCleary's nose so he'd be buried with no face, but knew I'd never purposefully shoot a man in the head. Rolfe and the idiot middle brother Clay I'd shoot through the heart, and I'd spare young Tanner. Little more than a whelp, Tanner wasn't big like his brothers, and I doubted he'd pose a danger away from Rolfe's lead.

An odd brutish set who kept their own company, the McClearys were nonetheless garrulous when approached. Rolfe was demonstrative to the point of indecency, and things ended badly for any man who got real friendly with the brothers.

Chester caught Yury as he fell through the office doorway that night. He held onto Chester there on the floor and wouldn't let go. Chester couldn't walk up the stairs to Doc's carrying a man, so I bent down and tried to pick Yury up. He tensed, hissed _"No!,"_ and held tighter to Chester, who looked to me.

I shifted my position on the floor so I could meet Yury's eyes. "We have to get you to Doc," I said. "I won't hurt you. Chester will come with us." When Yury didn't respond, I mouthed "Talk to him" at Chester.

"Let him pick you up so's we can get you to Doc, Yury. Mr. Dillon's not gonna hurt you," Chester said.

Yury let me lift him then, but he still clutched the arm of Chester's shirt so Chester had to walk close beside me, making our steps awkward on account of his limp. Yury told me on the way what the McCleary brothers did to him. I almost tripped over Chester's foot more than once as our steps weren't matched, and tried not to think what would happen if we tangled and the three of us fell. We'd all need Doc then.

Doc is a regular nursemaid, his patients' moral character notwithstanding. I saw no reason for Kitty to soil her hands nursing a man like Yury, but Doc said he needed her to spell him and Mrs. Kincaid as Yury couldn't be alone in Doc's office; he might wander out and fall down the stairs.

"Why would he fall down the stairs?" I said. "His legs are mending tolerable. It's inside his head that's sick."

Doc shushed me; Yury sat in bed in the other room. "I think he understands some of what he hears," Doc said.

"I've treated men in shock before, Matt. They're like babies—have to watch 'em round the clock. I need Kitty's help, and times when she's too busy, I'll need Chester."

Chester had been broody lately. I knew nursing duty wouldn't improve his mood. "Come on, Doc," I said. "Chester's not up to this. Mrs. Kincaid's a fine woman; I'd like to do what we can for her husband, but you're asking too much."

"I'll only ask Chester's help when I need it," Doc said. "It's mostly just sitting with the patient. It's up to you, Matt; Chester won't say no to you. The only doctor in town can't stay in his office every minute. The burden will fall on Mrs. Kincaid without Chester's help."

Though I yielded to Doc's irrefutable logic at the time, when Chester scared me half to death yowling from a nightmare, I told Doc my partner's nursing days were over.

"No, you're right, Matt," Doc said. As Yury had nearly recovered sufficient to travel, Doc would no longer need Chester's services. Doc said Mrs. Kincaid would take her husband to an asylum for feeble-minded in Virginia. "Have Chester take one of these in water every night." Doc handed me some sleeping powder packets.

Must've been a week or so after the Kincaids left Dodge when young Tanner McCleary came to the office. I thought first thing of a confession, as the McClearys never asked help from the law. I was writing a report on the Circle Z ranch hands' latest drunken rampage through Dodge. I'd turned the cowboys loose that morning.

Chester was cleaning the jail cells when Tanner walked in with the furtive air that always surrounded him. I looked up from my report, and Chester stopped mopping the jail floor.

"You got something you wanna get off your chest?" I said to Tanner.

"It was Rolfe, Marshal," he said. "I ain't done it. Rolfe made me and Clay hold 'im. I was too scared of Rolfe not to do what he says, and fool Clay obeys him no matter if it's somethin' bad."

I stood and moved to talk to Tanner face on. Chester set the mop aside, came into the front room and sat on the edge of my desk.

"Rolfe made you and Clay hold who?" I said. We'd need a full confession to convict, including names.

"Yury Kincaid," said Tanner. "Clay and me hit him some to hold onto 'im. He most got away a coupla times and fought us. Clay beat him hard when Yury give him a black eye."

"You said it was Rolfe," I said. "What did Rolfe do?"

Tanner reddened. "Attacked 'im. Yury. Beat him over and over and . . . worse 'n that.

"Things was friendly when Yury first come over our place. We made jokes. Then Rolfe got real close to Yury, backslappin' and shoulder huggin' and such. Yury, guess he'd had enough of that outta Rolfe from times afore, so he called Rolfe an unmannerly brute and backhanded 'im. Rolfe don't take that off no man, and that's when . . . it started."

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked. I didn't need his answer for testimony, but I wanted to know.

He said nothing for a moment, then spit out his response, talking rapidly. "Rolfe, he . . . since we was young 'uns . . . he's forceful like. He goes on like friendly but he's mean. _Real_ mean. It's me he fixes on, not Clay." Tanner ran his words together; it took a close listen to understand him. "Clay won't let-let h-him cuz Clay's bigger," he said. "I can't fight Rolfe off." He crushed his hat in his hands, pulling it apart. "He says he'll track me if I run off. I choose prison over a fate worse 'n death is all.

"I let Clay know I was goin' to the law, Marshal. Rolfe treats Clay bad, so my first thinkin' in my rilement was Clay might want Rolfe in prison much as me." Tanner shook his head hard enough to crack his neck. "Fearin' now I made a mistake tellin' Clay," he said. "He's mighty loyal to Rolfe, and Clay ain't so foolish he don't know what prison is. He might tell Rolfe I went to the law."

I figured Tanner was right, that Rolfe and Clay fled from the law as we spoke. Even knowing what Rolfe did to Yury, I failed to understand the depth of evil to which a man can sink.

"Chester, lock Tanner up and get my horse," I said, strapping on my gunbelt. "I'm gonna bring those two in."

The door banged open. Rolfe stood in the doorway, gun drawn. He shot Tanner in the chest. Tanner's body jerked up rigid, then crumpled to the floor.

I drew my gun and shot Rolfe through the heart twice in quick succession. The floorboards rattled as he pitched face-down on the floor. Both brothers lay motionless and silent.

I was holstering my gun when Clay appeared in the doorway and leveled his gun at me. A shot cracked from behind me before my gun cleared the holster, and Clay dropped the gun and grabbed his chest. His mouth opened wide as he fell, landing on his back. I shot a slug through his hands still pressed to his chest as he went down. He was bigger than Rolfe, and the whole office shook as he landed. He lay silent like his brothers, his mouth hanging open and his eyes staring wide.

I turned to see Chester still holding the shotgun aimed at Clay's body. Chester moved to the body and looked down. "He's dead, Mr. Dillon," Chester said, in the same tone he used after shooting a copperhead. He moved to Rolfe and with the shotgun barrel flipped the body face-up. Rolfe's open eyes were unblinking and unseeing. "This one's dead too," said Chester.

He returned the shotgun to its place on the wall, then we both bent down next to Tanner's curled-up body. A crowd had gathered outside. I rolled Tanner onto his back. His eyes and mouth were slightly open. I held my palm close to his mouth and felt no breath.

I mailed Mrs. Kincaid a letter to let her know the men who attacked her husband were dead. I told Chester I was riding out to the McCleary shack to burn it, everything in it, and the grass around it to the ground. When Chester said he'd ride with me, and asked if he could strike the matches and light the shack on fire, I said alright. I understood. It sometimes helps for a man to clear away the aftermath with his own hand.

Fond as Kitty was of Mrs. Kincaid, she had no plans to correspond with her. Kitty wanted "to forget the whole dark business" if she could.

Doc won't write to the psychiatrists treating Yury. "He's in capable hands. Plenty folks right around here need my attention," Doc said

Doc read a book on psychiatry he ordered from a catalog in Jonas' store. Doc said Chester was stricken by the melancholy from the night Yury was attacked until the day I killed Rolfe McCleary and Chester killed Clay. Doc said the brothers' deaths brought Chester back to himself.

After the McClearys' bodies were hauled to Boot Hill, Chester scrubbed the office floor clean of blood. He played his guitar that night and sang lively songs like _Camptown Races_ and _Skip to my Lou_.

We're sitting outside the office now, Chester and I. I'm dozing light with the hat shading my eyes while Chester practices his rope tricks.

Yury won't be writing falsehoods about our townspeople if his senses ever return. Ma Smalley said Mrs. Kincaid threw her husband's writing tablets in the fire.


End file.
